An Unusual Christmas from Bertie Bott's
by minervamoon
Summary: The outcome of Harry's christmas was decided before him by the friend who decided to bestow a unique gift upon him. A short fic written prior to Goblet of Fire pure fluff, all humorous fun.


_Obligatory Author's Note:_  
I haven't posted on FFN for years and years and years. I started this account when I was 11 years old . . . that was the OLD, lovely FFN, when:  
-my username was MinervaMoon (yes, with the asterisks)  
-my profile had a nice, detailed bio and an accompanying picture  
-my favorite authors/stories list was miles long  
-the site's formatting was a lot prettier  
-and, of course, they still hosted NC-17 fics (the removal of which caused quite an uproar)

I must say that when everything started changing, it was a big turn-off for me. So I slipped away, into other mediums and interests.

However, I never completely quit the site. And just today, I was going through my old writing and found this. I was 12 years old when I wrote it. We're talking pre-Goblet of Fire here. This was at an ancient time in Harry Potter history, when no one guessed that Sirius would die, and everything was relatively chipper. However, Jo Rowling's changes are beautiful to me, contrary to FFN's, so I'm not complaining here.

I got an urge to post this never-before-seen fic, if only in honor of my younger self. It's lighthearted fun. I hope you enjoy. :)

**An Unusual Christmas, from the Geniuses at Bertie Bott's**

"Open it, Harry! Go on, open it!"

Ah, Christmas day. Harry Potter had never quite gotten used to getting actual _presents_ for Christmas, unless you counted a bent paperclip, old, smelly, too-large socks, and a two year old grocery receipt (unwrapped, of all the nerve) as presents.

Harry was now opening gifts in the Gryffindor common room, though the normally crowded room was still empty. He and Ron had gotten up early just to unwrap their presents first, before a swarm of people came stampeding in. It was still dark outside, and even though their eyes were chipper, judging by their general movement, they were extremely tired. One wonders if they slept a bit during the night.

Harry and Ron were sitting in a nest of brightly colored wrapping paper, and staring at Harry's final gift. It was a medium size, jangled when it was shaken, and was more weighty than it looked. Harry was trying to decide whether to wait until everyone was down so he might unwrap it properly, or if he should just rip off the paper, get it done with, and go back to sleep knowing the contents of every single one of his presents. Ron was all for the latter.

"Come on, Harry!" he pleaded. "I've opened all of mine. I want to see yours!"

"Well . . ." Harry said. "Erm, no, Ron. I really think we should have waited, and I don't want to feel entirely guilty."

"Ohh, please?"

Harry shot him a _I've-made-up-my-mind_ look. Ron desisted.

"Ahhh . . . all right. But when you do open it, I want to be right there!"

Harry agreed. He'd've wanted Ron to be by his side, anyway. They both clambered up to their dormitory, and soon, visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.

Harry woke again a few hours later. From the sound of things downstairs, everybody was now up. He put on his glasses and skittered down the steps. He emerged into total chaos: people quickly tearing wrapping off presents, comparing gifts, trying out the toys (many of which were buzzing around the room), and writing speedy thank you notes to parents on the backs of another student.

Just as Harry reached the tree and grabbed for the yet-unopened gift, he was interrupted by the portrait hole swinging open--from the outside. Professor McGonagall marched into the common room, told them stiffly that they were disturbing the adjoining rooms with the noise, and gave them as stern a look as one can give while in a tartan bathrobe and hairnet. Things quieted down considerably after that, and Harry was able to find Ron in the room that was formerly in confusion.

Ron looked excited. Harry didn't even know if this was anything to be excited about. But Ron said, in a voice that was perhaps a little too loud, "I'll bet it's a bag full of galleons! Something wonderful like that!"

Suddenly, the whole room was crowded around Harry, waiting expectantly. Harry shot Ron another look, this time _What-the-heck-did-you-do-that-for?_ Ron looked apologetic. Trying to ignore the people pushing in from all sides, Harry slowly took off the wrapping paper. He discovered . . .

A large box, filled with about a hundred bags of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! Everyone groaned, disappointed. But Colin Creevy, his usual, overexcited self, screamed, "There's a note!" and grabbed it before Harry could put in one word.

Colin read aloud:

_Dear Harry,_

_One of these bags contains a new flavor of bean. It's been the most expected one for about a year now, every since _Bertie Bott's_ declared they were experimenting with the flavor. Happy hunting! And, don't worry. When you find it, you'll _ know.

_Hugs,_

_Snuffles_

Snuffles, Harry recalled, was the name Sirius Black had told Harry, Ron, and Hermione to call him when talking about him in public. Of course, nobody else knew who Snuffles was, but they really didn't care, or recognize any importance. Hermione, upon hearing the name, squeezed close to be right next to her two close friends. They were stunned. Then--

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Seamus Finnigan called. "Let's dig in!"

There was a mad rush for Harry's bags. Ron's twin brothers, Fred and George Weasley, could sense trouble quickly, considering they always caused it. They set off two Filibuster Fireworks to give everyone a jolt, then ushered Harry and the beans out the portrait hole and off to the Great Hall, Ron and Hermione close behind. The common room, deciding they would see him during breakfast, returned to their own presents.

At breakfast, news spread fast about Harry's strange gift. The majority of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had come over begging for beans, and the Gryffindors were all sitting jam packed, inching their way towards the delicious snacks. Only the Slytherins seemed too proud to beg for anything from _Potter_, but the way the rest of the school figured, hey, sucks for them, more for us!

Harry ended up giving hundreds of beans away, and even selling some for a high price. Everyone wanted to be the one to find the new flavor, if there even was one. Soon, Professor Sinistra came down from the table to ask what the commotion was about. The professor sampled a few flavors, the students devoured dozens of them, but nobody found anything unusual--at least, unusual for a Bertie Bott's bean. The Slytherins even started to look envious.

Professor Dumbledore, with a twinkle in his eye, glided down himself and politely asked for a few. Harry gladly gave him a whole bag to share with any teacher who wanted one. Harry watched him sit back down, and the students, following his gaze, stared at Dumbledore as he distributed the beans.

This could get interesting. Who of the professors would even accept? Though Dumbledore spoke in a normal voice, the room echoed his words to the now silent students.

"Minerva, would you like a small number? Black pepper? Horseradish? Erm . . . bogey?"

The students giggled.

"Ouch, Minerva, don't give me that look. All right. Poppy? The kiwi's rather good, or you might prefer to pick one randomly . . . Argus? No? Then, would Mrs. Norris like a sardine? I like chicken, I like sardine, I like Every Flavor Beans . . ."

Mrs. Norris meowed. The four long tables (yes, including Slytherin) were now shaking with silent laughter. Nobody dared to make a sound and miss anything. This sort of thing didn't happen every day.

"Oh, then, how about you two? Any takers? Yes? Ahh, look, Professors Sprout and Flitwick! Can we have some applause?"

The students' claps thundered through the room. Sprout and Flitwick bit--Flitwick announced, relieved, that it was marshmallow (the students groaned), and Sprout declared that she had, appropriately, gotten a grass flavored one. The clapping slowed to a halt, but only because the students had seen who Dumbledore was now looking, smiling, at--Professor Snape.

Even the teachers leaned forwards to get a better look. Anyone who had been watching Snape from the beginning of the fiasco would have seen a vein noticeable throbbing by the side of his face. He looked as though he could spontaneously explode at any moment.

Dumbledore began, quietly, "Severus? May I even ask? Surely our great potions professor would be brave enough to try one, small, flavored jelly bean?"

The students roared. Snape jumped up so fast the movement was not even seen. "_SILENCE!_" he bellowed. They immediately stifled. Snape was almost in mad hysterics. He bent forwards. "50 points each from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Huffl-"

Professor Flitwick physically jumped on Snape to stop him from, well, being an idiot. "_Severus!_" Dumbledore said sharply, though there was a hint of a smile still playing at his lips. "No, that will not go on the record. Professor, please release Professor Snape. Severus, I'm sure the kids mean no harm. They just want to see you--"

"I _realize_ that!" Snape snapped, but almost startled at himself, added, "Headmaster."

His expression said, only too clearly, that he would rather privately tutor Neville Longbottom than to be having this conversation in front of the whole school.

"One bean," Dumbledore urged. He smiled. "I even happen to know that Minerva has been stealing strawberry flavors out of the bag while my back was turned. If she could do it . . ."

If you looked, Professor McGonagall could have been seen as a reddish shade for a split second, before she hastily pulled a book from under her chair and immediately immersed herself in it. Upside down, I might add. This was a first, behavior-wise, for Professor McGonagall, and the Hogwarts students looked at each other, mystified. Harry would have never guessed that his simple present could have this much influence on the school.

Snape's lips had curved into an evil smirk. "Very _well_," he said, eyes glinting, saying unspoken words of, 'I am not doing this for your benefit. I will not be ridiculed. You will treat me with the same respect, more so, when this is over.'

Professor Dumbledore carefully plucked a creamy brown bean. He examined it for a few moments, turning it over, then stated in a soothing tone (for he was not patronizing, because not even the headmaster dared take up that tone with the potions professor), "I think you should be safe with a nice milk chocolate, don't you?"

Snape took it with his thumb and forefinger, eyes now narrowed. He slowly brought it upwards, and somehow managed to place it in his mouth, barely moving his lips. Everyone waited expectantly.

Nothing happened for a few seconds, and he stared at them all. Dean stage-whispered that he didn't even think Snape was chewing. But quite unexpectantly, Professor Snape turned an interesting shade of yellow-green. He closed his eyes for a second. Then, all dignity seemed to be temporarily forgotten, for he quickly clambered out of the chair, and ran towards the side exit, deliberately rapping Madam Pomfrey on the shoulder as he passed. She followed, worried, yet curious.

As soon as the doors closed behind the two, the students were in an uproar. _Which flavor was _that_? Which flavor could shock him enough_ _to force him to act so queerly_? Dumbledore and McGonagall silently hurried after the two, and left a gigantic room full of puzzled (but surprisingly unconcerned from their teacher's health) students.

It took several unnecessary hours of coaxing afterwards to get Professor Snape to tell what had occurred. As Dumbledore had said before, if anything is a complete secret, the whole school knows it, and the story spread quickly through all students, first year to seventh year, Gryffindor to Slytherin. It seemed as though Snape had discovered the mystery flavor, and was quite unprepared for it.

Still, who would have guessed they'd make a _poop_ flavored one?

END

(As an afterthought, who was the prototype? And how did Snape know what he was tasting?)


End file.
